Editor's Note I: Nobody, not even the filmmakers, seems to ever touch on the fact that the Narada is a galaxy-altering event. All sorts of races would've gotten their hands on its technology, and the Cardassians are high on the list of those who would've definitely reverse engineered it for evil. It's an untapped gold mine of stories as far as I'm concerned, and so I went about creating a whole hypothetical movie for it.
Editor's Note II: The first few paragraphs are just giving a brief introduction to the Kelvin-Timeline as a whole. I promise we pick up pretty quickly with this one compared to my other, slower works.
Editor's Note III: Please feel free to give feedback of all kinds! It's a big boost to story reach and helps out more than you know. Sharing it on social media, a review, even a favourite/follow! It'd be much appreciated. Also please, for the love of holy moly, somebody tell me how to format on this site lol. Yours truly, -K.S.
Chapter One: Past Prologue
Stardate Unknown (2269).
Space is an infinite frontier, limited only by bravery, imagination, and perseverance. It is the last dominion to be explored by sentient life, and yet the first to exist. To explore its vast reaches is to defy nature, the laws of time and space, and the fear of the unknown.
It is to this end that Starfleet, of the diplomatic United Federation of Planets, exists.
Although they were hampered, challenged, by strife and war for over two decades, Starfleet recently managed to find its way back to its roots- and its officers, the brave humans and aliens who staff its ranks, have become explorers once more. Scientists, diplomats, and daredevil cowboys alike, they yearn to see what is over that next hill, beyond that next star, and to know what it means to plunge bravely into the darkness of space. It was this very ideal, this yearning, that spawned Starfleet in the first place over a century prior.
From the humble beginnings on a united Earth, aided by the logic-driven, benevolent, people of Vulcan, the Starfleet reached for the stars- not to conquer, but to understand, to expand the limits of the known and unknown, and to finally find their place in the universe. They succeeded, time and time again, forging bonds with over a hundred different worlds, continuing to expand their domain, spreading an unheard-of kind of diplomacy and freedom from quadrant to quadrant.
When invaders from the future wrecked that peaceful vision over two decades ago, Starfleet turned to its darkest vices. A fleet of brilliant scholars and peacemakers no more, the ships of old were cast aside in favour of military frigates, destroyers, and capital ships that could decimate entire fleets on their own. In time, the explorers, the visionaries, and the peaceful would regain control, but by then the effects were already spreading, like ripples in the water, to the rest of the galaxy.
Other sovereign nations, the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Star Empire, the Cardassian Union, the Gorn Hegemony, and the Tholian Assembly, all vying rivals of the United Federation of Planets, began to ramp up their own militarization. An arms race dwarfed economies of these interstellar powers within years, and many are still unwilling to part with this newfound paranoia. The Federation stands alone in its de-escalation.
The unintended effects of the invaders from the future have destroyed what could have been, and wrought anew a series of coincidences and events, some mirroring those of the future, others created due to this vengeful incursion.
But, for now, even as tensions continue to escalate on all sides, the United Federation of Planets has found peace yet again. This peace is due in no small part to the efforts of one unique crew- that of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
Although they come from various walks of life, each has managed to find a new family in each other. It seems fate intervenes to bring together extraordinary people at the right time, and finding each other seems to always be the fate of this extraordinary crew. Without a uniting force, however, they would never have found each other- nor would they have continued to stand by each other time and time again. The man that binds them together is their captain, the charismatic, ever brash, ever wily, James Tiberius Kirk.
His journey from cadet to captain was difficult and messy, but he has proven himself worthy of the position. Alongside him is the half-Vulcan, half-human Commander Spock, a man whose brilliance is paralleled only by the traumas and the loss he has suffered in his life, and he remains James Kirk's closest, steadfast friend. Finally, Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy, a sour Southern doctor whose best work seems to always be found on the next adventure, keeps both of them accountable, and the rest of the crew healthy.
Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, a brilliantly striking and intelligent woman, has been the Enterprise's communications officer on and off for just under a decade. Her expertise has pulled her to various assignments, but she always returns home at the end of the day. Hikaru Sulu is the helmsman of the Enterprise, and although he, too, has briefly strayed for other commands, the inexplicable pull of his found family has brought him back many a time. Pavel Chekov, the youthful, exuberant Russian, who even with this many years on the job maintains an admirable optimism and infectious smile, charts their course and maintains their weapons systems. Much of the crew considers him the best of them, and a career full of unparalleled successes awaits him whenever he chooses. He has recently taken up a brief assignment onboard the U.S.S. Archer, eager to continue surveying distant worlds.
Last, but certainly not least, is Commander Montgomery Scott, chief engineer, and a man well known for breaking the laws of physics when the mood suits him. A Scottish lad who could never stomach anything other than real ale, the affectionately named 'Scotty' is Kirk's go-to whenever duties require him to leave the bridge. Without him, nearly half of the Enterprise's exploits would be impossible.
This found family has served together for nearly ten years exactly, and, although they are unaware, their time together is beginning to grow short. Dark powers are at work, and one of the unintended ripple effects, caused both by the invaders from the future and the militarization of Starfleet, is about to be revealed. A tragedy unraveling in the Western Reaches that will unintentionally cascade into every corner of the known universe is about to be discovered, and the Enterprise crew will be powerless to stop it.
The U.S.S. Archer, a Newton-class battleship, patrolled the Western Reaches, just beyond the Argolis Cluster. While its official mission was to survey and protect the nearby Argus Array, a massive satellite station, from any threats, the changes in Federation doctrine and policy had given the ship more leeway in its mission. Under the command of Captain Dash Reinarr, formerly of the United Patrol Fleet, the Archer was making its way deeper and deeper into uncharted space.
Unofficially, this sector had been plotted by merchants and deep space probes for years, but neither had been focused on mapping out anything particularly noteworthy. The Quadros-1 probe from the 2190's had allegedly ventured out this far, but it had stopped responding long ago and was considered officially lost. Despite the Argus Array's massive sensor array, the scientists onboard had generally refused to pass much of their knowledge on to Starfleet- or, if they had, none of that knowledge had been passed to Captain Reinarr and his crew.
So, on his own initiative, Reinarr was charting a path through unexplored space.
He, like many people, was aware that an alien species known as the Cardassians was generally accepted to live in the Western Reaches. The Cardassians were grey-skinned, almost reptilian aliens, with high necks, slicked black hair, and a generally harmless demeanor. Their contact with the Federation had been limited, and they were fiercely reclusive and xenophobic. Although they played nice in diplomatic meetings, nothing formal had ever been established between them and the United Federation of Planets.
Dash highly doubted he'd run into any of them out here, and he told his executive officer, the young Pavel Chekov, exactly that.
"Chekov, I know you've been a part of the best deep space team the Federation has ever had," He said, the silver-tongued fox smiling affably at the young man, "But I've been patrolling the space lanes since you were in juniour high. I've never seen a Cardassian, and I don't expect that to change today."
Chekov, still standing straight at attention next to the captain's chair, replied, "If you say so sir," Despite years away from home, his hearty Russian accent was still as strong as ever, "But I believe we should at least be running at yellow alert."
"Your suggestion is noted, my boy," Dash said, resting his hands together, "I appreciate your tactical assessments, but we've been on an extended run for three days now. If we were going to see the Cardassians, we'd have seen them by now."
"With all due respect," Chekov began again, trying to hide his nerves by rocking on his feet, "I believe we should at least take some precautions this far into deep space. I am your first officer with good reason, yes? Perhaps you want to take my suggestion as more than note."
Dash Reinarr regarded the boy, that same affable smile slimmed down into a modest smirk as he contemplated. In a way, Chekov reminded Reinarr of himself when he was younger. Always looking to impress, always nervous, and yet quite sure of the truth in his actions and words. Unlike Reinarr, of course, Chekov wasn't going grey, and his pale skin showed not only his Russian heritage but his long service in space.
Dash's slicked back brown hair was going grey on the sides, and was peppered throughout with the signs of age. He was tanned and well built, but he was showing all the signs of a man who had been in the captain's chair for many years. Chekov, he noted, seemed to be the opposite in all that and more.
A thought passed through his mind, but he left it unspoken.
He waved the young boy off, "Alright, point taken. Bring us up to yellow alert, have the hull shields running but keep the primary offline. Standby forward phaser banks only."
Chekov beamed, a mixture of pride and vindication, "At once, sir."
Immediately, he bounded over to his duty station. The lights overhead flashed yellow three times, and repeated that pattern across all decks, and then returned to normal. The barely detectable hum of the secondary shield generators came to Dash's ears. Any seasoned captain could tell those barely perceptible changes in a ship, and Dash had long since gotten used to the Archer.
Pavel Chekov was, to put it bluntly, on loan from Enterprise, but that didn't dampen his working relationship with Dash. On the contrary, he was the model of exemplary professionalism, and he came highly recommended from the only other flyboy in Starfleet, James T. Kirk, a man whom Dash found a kindred spirit in many ways, despite their differing careers. Chekov's rotation through Dash's ship was part of a long-standing exchange program for ships out in the Western Reaches, and he had been, perhaps, the best officer to come through Dash Reinarr's command in years. Even if he was returning at the end of next month to rejoin the Enterprise, Chekov would certainly be welcome back any time, and his service out here would not be soon forgotten.
Dash checked the time on the arm of his chair, getting up to stretch as he did so.
"Pavel, I'm going to go check out the mess hall, see what we've got cooking today. Want me to bring you back anything?"
"Not at this time sir, thank you."
"Alrighty, you have the conn, Chekov."
The young man immediately stood up, transferring control of his station to the captain's chair, "Aye sir, I have the conn."
Dash Reinarr was just returning to the bridge, satisfied from his meal, when Chekov whirled around in the chair to face him. They were currently at warp, near maximum too if Dash was feeling the rumbling of the deck plates correctly.
"Sir, distress call received two minutes ago."
"Origin?" Dash said as he exited the turbolift, Chekov vacating the seat for him.
"M-class world, temperate climate, Earth-like in many respects. We should arrive in two minutes," Chekov answered, standing next to the captain's chair, arms folded behind his back.
"We get any information about what this is about?"
"Not really, sir," Chekov said, almost sheepishly, "The communication was badly garbled, but it was marked as urgent."
Dash rubbed his chin, noticing the stubble that had somehow grown in already, "Badly garbled, hm? What's your take on it, son- natural interference or jamming?"
Chekov understood what his captain meant. He was asking if the reason the distress signal was so poorly received was caused by natural phenomena or if it had been intentionally jammed by a hostile ship or ships.
"The Argus Array reports no solar storms, spatial disturbances, or other natural disaster in this area, sir. I believe it is reasonable to conclude this transmission was jammed."
Dash sat up straighter in his seat, transferring control of the weapons systems back to Chekov's console. Despite his casual demeanor, Dash Reinarr was no stranger to the dangers of space. The safety and sanctity of all sentient life had always been his top priority, and he never slouched when it came to protecting that.
"To your station then, boy," Dash said, before tapping the intraship communicator, broadcasting his voice to all decks, "Archer, this is Captain Reinarr. All hands to your stations, we are activating red alert status. I repeat, all hands to your stations, we are activating red alert status."
He thumbed the communicator off and switched on the red alert. A small alarm whirred for a few moments before going silent, and the lighting dampened briefly for the red alert pattern to play.
"Lieutenant Traviss, send a message back to Starbase One Twenty-Nine, advise them of our location and status."
"Aye, sir," The communications officer replied.
"Chekov, power up forward phaser banks to full power. Begin warming up the primary shield generator."
"Yes, Captain."
Dash swapped his view between a tactical readout on the arm of his chair and the viewscreen, waiting for the moment they dropped out of warp.
That moment came soon. The warp field dissipated around them, leaving nothing but the emptiness of space and a distant planet on the horizon. Indeed, the distant planet was very Earth-like. Different continent shapes, of course, but the deep blue oceans and dark green fields could be seen even from space. Like Earth, there was also a gathering of ships near a large space station that was orbiting the world.
"Mr. David," Reinarr nearly leapt from his chair, his hands tightening on the arms, "Bring us in as close to the opposite side of the planet as you can, maximum impulse."
The helmsman was startled by the captain's outburst, but followed his orders nonetheless.
"Chekov, passive scanners only, I don't want that war fleet to notice us."
While the other crew, busy at their stations, eyes affixed to status screens, didn't notice, Captain Reinarr had. Those ships weren't just orbiting around the station. Flashes of light could be seen even at this far across space- all directed towards the planet.
Dash Reinarr had seen something similar only once before, and the captain had to fight to hide the horror from making its way to his face, but the words are spoken, soundlessly, escaping from his lips in a hoarse whisper.
Orbital bombardment.
The planet grew bigger as they continued their trajectory, aiming for an orbit that would keep them opposite the attackers.
"Any sentient life? Scratch that, what's the nearest population center?"
Chekov inspected his instruments for a moment, the blue of the scanning readout illuminating his face.
"I have pinpointed a remote area, Captain. However, scans indicate it is home to roughly five thousand humanoids."
"Helm, bring us about to that area. Chekov," Reinarr spun around in his chair, heading for the turbolift, "You're with me. Mr. Traviss, you have the conn."
Chekov finished his work, handing it off to a junior bridge officer, before quickly scampering after the captain, just barely slipping past the doors as the turbolift descended.
Transporters were once an impossible science, the stuff of true science fiction. However, despite their beginnings, they had become commonplace across nearly all space, and were vital on starships. They allowed near instantaneous transmission of organic and non-organic material at great distances, between ships, stations, and even planets if the destination was nearby. The Archer's transporters were top of the line, quickly scrambling the atoms and molecules of both Dash Reinarr and Pavel Chekov in the transporter room before rearranging them on the planet.
When they materialized, the golden aura of the transporters fading away, Chekov and Reinarr immediately looked around themselves, tricorders scanning. Reinarr's hand itched over his phaser, safely in its holster. He had a feeling what they'd find here, but he'd been burned, sometimes literally, too many times in the past to not be weary.
"It appears we are in a holy site of some sort, Keptin," Chekov said, "These stones are estimated to be at least seven thousand years old. Judging by the architecture, I believe we are in some sort of temple."
Dash had to agree. Although the inside of the roof was badly damaged, Dash could make out flecks of blue and red paint that had, at one time, likely been a mural. The sandy blocks of stone that made the walls gave way to a magnificent veranda on one side, decorated with massive sun-bleached pillars. Beyond the carved stone fencing, acres and acres of green and yellowed grasslands stretched on into the distance, only stopping at massive mountains that scraped the skies.
In the valley below, Dash could even see some small dwellings. Simple buildings, likely farmhouses, that had once housed the people who would've worked the land. Many of them now, however, had massive holes in their roofs, or were dilapidated and abandoned. The simple stone or wood grave markers that littered the land gave answer to where their inhabitants had gone.
A loose pebble skidded across the floor nearby, and Dash and Chekov immediately whirled on the source of the sound. Dash's phaser was at the ready, while Chekov merely clutched his tricorder tighter.
An elderly woman in tattered blue and red robes looked upon them with bewilderment.
She was gaunt, and Dash had to imagine that despite the fullness of her clothing, she was likely just as skeletal beneath them. Her eyes held a haunting pain that Dash had hoped to never see outside of the history books, and she took slow, trembling, steps towards them.
"I am Captain Dash Reinarr, of the United Federation of Planets," Dash said, "We're here to help however we can."
The woman collapsed into Dash's arms, and she was eerily easy to hold. She had no tears to cry, but wept all the same, clutching his golden uniform for all the strength she had left.
A pair of inquisitive eyes peered at them from around the same corner the elderly woman had come from, then two more, then more. Before long, an entire group, steadily streaming from around the corner, came to greet them. They are famished, dying, injured, crippled, and more. Many are children, some not older than four or five.
They cling to Chekov and Reinarr from every angle, weeping, begging for help.
It takes a moment, but eventually Reinarr is able to calm the crowd.
"Who are you people, and what is happening to this world?"
"The Cardassians," A lone, dusty voice spoke out from the crowd, "They are eradicating us."
The owner, an ailing man in similar clothes to the woman, stepped forward from the crowd. His eyes were sunken in, his cheeks pressed to his skull, and he was forced to lean on a splintered, wooden cane to stand. There were some small ridges on the bridge of his nose, and a beautifully simple earring on his right ear, with a chain that extended from the top to the bottom of the ear. The ridges seemed to be common among these people.
Chekov and Reinarr exchanged a look, unsure if they heard correctly. The Cardassians were xenophobic recluses, few in the known galaxy had ever met one, let alone seen one.
Dash took the man at his word, "Who are you people?"
"We are Bajorans, of the planet Bajor," He answered, "Please, you must help us."
Another look between captain and first officer, and the decision was made. Questions could be asked and answered later, investigations and probing could wait. For now, these people needed help, and there wasn't a moment to lose.
Dash flipped open his communicator, "Archer, this is Reinarr. Prepare to beam up refugees, and have Doctor Wallace's team prepared for overfill."
"Count, sir?"
"Until there's no space left on the ship," Dash answered, "Beam Chekov and myself directly to the bridge."